


Lurking

by mothersentry



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, mcpriceley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothersentry/pseuds/mothersentry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dead are up and walking around, and the great American road trip District Nine had planned comes to a screeching halt. Now all they can worry about is surviving; between the lurkers and the unforeseen emotional strain, it may turn out to be harder than they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding

“We need water.”

Connor looks up from his daydreaming at Mafala, looking grim and cradling four empty liter jugs. Connor stands and goes to take them. The sun is just starting to creep behind them now, casting long shadows across the roof they are perched on and inviting the evening chill.

“I can ask someone else,” Mafala says as he takes a step back. “You should not have to do this every time, especially not with a horde moving this way.”

“We need a full water store with that horde coming,” Connor says. “I know the way the best and will get there the fastest.” Connor shrugs on a tattered rucksack and offers his hand. Mafala hesitates another moment before handing the jugs to Connor.

“Kevin wants to come with you,” Mafala says.

Connor chokes back a laugh. “No. He can stay on the roof with you if it makes him feel better, but I’m not dragging him along. I’ll have the axe and one of Ghali’s radios and I’ll be back before he knows it.”

“We’ll have the scope on you,” Mafala warns. “Kevin—“

“Make sure he only fires if he absolutely needs to,” Connor replies. He turns towards the fire escape that spirals to the ground below. “We don’t need any noise drawing them this way.”

Mafala nods, squeezes Connor’s shoulder, and heads back to the northern edge of the roof. He grabs the axe off of a small rack by the fire escape before climbing down.   
It’s three flights down from the roof. Connor turns into the sun and squints. No fog for the first time since they’ve been here. _And what has that been, a month? A week? Doesn’t matter._ Connor heads west to the water well with his head spinning.

The Outbreak, as they had begun calling it, began a few weeks after they had come to America. A couple of the Elders went home, most of the Ugandans stayed in Africa, but the rest of District Nine and their village decided to celebrate with the Great American Roadtrip. Then they struck a Lurker that tore the front bumper off. They pulled over immediately, discovered their victim was already past dead, and fled to the nearest town where they traveled with a few other families; they watched these people die in a horde rush three days later.

They bunkered in a college building (they thought, though Connor could now confirm with the fog cleared) with a (relatively) nearby water well (Kevin didn’t trust the tap water). The campus was quieter than they had thought, which Connor couldn’t define as a pro or con.

Connor reaches the well and pries off the top, unscrews the makeshift fix on the inner piping and begins filling the jugs. He looks up for a moment and sees a long, single-floor building ten yards away. Classrooms. Dorms, maybe? Connor shuts off the water and switches on the radio.

“I found something.”

Kevin, back on the roof of the bunker, snatches the radio from Ghali’s lap. “It better be water.”

“No, another building. It’s pretty close to the well, but the fog was too thick to see it before. I’m gonna check it out and see if there’s any food or survivors inside.”

“Connor,” Kevin snaps, “just get the water and come back. If there’s any exploring that needs to be done, you can’t just do it al—”

Connor shuts off his radio, pulls the axe out of straps of the rucksack, and approaches the steel door of the hall. He tries the handle to find it locked.

“Of course,” Connor mutters. He glances around, searching the wilting hedges and cracked asphalt and—yes, there, a keychain, tossed between the brush and the brick.  
 _A little convenient, but I’m not going to say no._ Connor unlocks the door and steps inside, making sure to close it behind him. He can almost hear Kevin hammering the talk button on the bunker radio; he’ll say he couldn’t risk the noise, especially with a horde this close.

The first thing Connor notices is the silence. No wind in the trees or crying crows. His footsteps are muffled by dingy carpeting as he moves along. A hallway full of little pockets of locked rooms and empty bathroom is all he finds until Connor finally finds a broken lock at the end of one of the six-room pockets. He tightens his grip on his axe and nudges the door open.

It’s a mess. Hangers are scattered all over the floor, dusty desks full of clean spots where things have been taken, and shards of broken glass sit on top of one of the two beds. Whoever lived here left in a hurry. 

“No different than anyone else, I guess,” Connor says to himself. He goes to the nearest desk and opens its drawers. Bandages, a first-aid kit, packages of dried food and bottles of soap. Connor whirls around to the other desk. More food, more basic medicine: pain killers, cough syrup, sleep aids, all between the pens, papers and books.

Connor tries the light switch, and let there be light. He scrambles to shut it off and nearly trips in his rush to the mini-fridge; he opens the door and cold air rushes to his face. Connor slams it shut and grabs his radio.

“Guys, guys—” Connor stutters for a moment, shaking his head. “I got inside, and there’s—there’s food and beds and supplies, and extra clothes and electricity—“

“Slow down,” says Mafala. Connor can hear Kevin griping in the background. “Where are you?”

“We were right about this being a campus,” Connor replies. “I got inside a dorm, and there was one room with a broken lock, and they have everything. There’s enough in here to last us at least a month. It’s not very far from the well.”

Silence on the airway. “Is there water? Is it secure?”

Connor leaves the room and goes back to the main hallway. “I haven’t run into any Lurkers yet. I’ll see about water. If there isn’t any running, or if no one wants to risk the tap water, the well is only a stone’s throw away.”  
“Be careful.”

Connor walks a few steps before finding a water fountain. Hands trembling, he places one of the empty bottles under the faucet and presses the button. Water spurts from the tap, startling Connor into dropping the radio.

“The water runs,” Connor says after composing himself.

“How do we know it’s clean?” Kevin asks. The speaker crackles from the volume. “It could be contaminated.”

“It looks clean to me, just like all the other tap water has,” Connor retorts. “We took a bigger risk with the well water.”

“He’s right,” says Ghali in the background when Kevin tries to object.

“I’ll bring back the water,” Connor says. “We can boil some if it makes you feel better.”

“Oh, Elder M—Connor, you may have to wait on that,” Nabulungi says. Connor relaxes at the sound of her voice. “If you are where we think you are, the horde is only a few hundred yards away. I—we do not want you to risk the noise and get jumped. Are the entrances safe? What about windows?”

“I can board the windows,” Connor says, “or at least block them. The bedroom I found had its windows broken, but I can take care of that. We can tighten this place up later.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’” 

“Kevin, be quiet,” Mafala scolds. “Whatever you do, be careful. We’ll come to you in the morning. Stay safe.”

“I will, I promise. See you tomorrow.” Connor pauses, then shuts off the radio. He goes back to the bedroom and collapses in one of the desk chairs, then spies a package of   
ramen in a drawer he left open. 

“God bless college students,” Connor mutters as he rises to tamper with the microwave.

\--

“I’m telling you, we should be there with him,” Kevin says again at the bunker. They’ve built their nightly fire, something they’re praying will repel the horde rather than attract it.

“We are no good to him dead,” Mafala says. Again. “He’s a smart bo—man. You of all people should know that. He will be just fine.”

Kevin looks away. Arnold puts a hand on his arm, but says nothing. He’s been talking less and less since the Outbreak. If you had told Kevin two years ago that he would miss Arnold’s voice, you would’ve politely told you, in Church-approved language, to fuck off.

Connor, meanwhile, curls up beneath the blankets of a student who’s probably dead and gazes through the cracks in the dresser boards he used to bar the windows. The groans of the dead fade in and out outside; Connor has grown used to falling asleep to that sound.

\--

Early the next morning half of the bunker sets off in the mist and dew to the hall. With the horde passed they are sparsely armed; Kevin has a rifle they’d looted and Nabulungi has her hunting knife. 

“We should keep moving,” Kevin says. “We’ll end up dead if we settle down.”

“You find us fuel,” Nabulungi says, “and I will get you a car.”

Kevin grunts. Arnold stumbles to catch up with them; he’s dropped a few pounds, but his physical condition hasn’t improved much. “We know what you mean, Kev. I think everyone is just tired.”

Kevin doesn’t respond, but looks at Arnold and smiles.

Connor is waiting for them when they arrive, sitting on a steel bench with the axe across his lap. He beams as they approach and stands to take Nabulungi by the arm and open the door to the hall.

“Welcome.”

\--

Kevin scours the hall for an hour before admitting it’s clear of Lurkers; despite his protests, Arnold immediately picks a room to stay in and sets down his bags as a sign of commitment.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, best friend,” Arnold says to Kevin from the doorway, “but I think I’m gonna room with Naba. You know, since that’s the arrangement we got used to back at the bunker.”

“Arn, we are not staying here.”

“And why not?” Nabulungi approaches from behind Kevin, arms crossed. “This place is plenty secure. Most of the windows are still intact, and there is more food than we have seen for weeks. I vote that we stay.”

“I don’t think our survival strategy should be up for a vote,” Kevin replies. “Besides, we’re going to run out of that food eventually.”

“We can cross that bridge when we get to it,” Nabulungi says. Finality drips from her voice. She flashes a sudden sweet smile at him and passes by to Arnold, who lets her into the room.

Kevin, grinding his teeth, busts into Connor’s room. Connor turns from fastening the beams from the closet to the window, nonplussed.

“Uh, can I help you?”

“Seems like everyone is moving in,” Kevin snaps. “What a survivalist you turned out to be.”

Connor scowls. “Listen here, eagle scout. I don’t know why you’re so bent out of shape over this, but everyone thinks this place is perfectly safe—except you. There’s nothing the bunker has that we’ll miss here.”

“Except a view. Think about what could’ve happened last night if we hadn’t seen that horde coming.”

“God, Kevin,” Connor groans. “I know your pride is smarting from us leaving the fucking chemistry building you found, but that was our means then, and this is our means now. Don’t take it out on me.”

“What are you—I’m not—” Kevin sputters. “I—my own mission companion isn’t rooming with me!”

“We’re not on our mission anymore,” Connor says, turning back to the rod. “Anyways, he got used to sleeping with Naba back at the bunker. Don’t take comfort and sleep away from him for old time’s sake, okay? I don’t think your friendship is going to suffer.”

“I’m not rooming by myself,” Kevin says after a moment.

“I didn’t say you had to,” Connor replies. He jams the rod into the sill and steps back, satisfied. “I’m sure there’s someone who’d be willing to room with you.”

“Easy for you to say, with Popt—”

Kevin bites his tongue and Connor looks down. Connor brushes his hair out of his face and sits down on the edge of the nearest bed. Neither of them speaks for a long moment.

“I’m, um—I’m sorry,” Kevin says quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just… overwhelmed, I guess. Scared.”

“Everyone is,” Connor says. “As for Chris, while I’d rather you didn’t use him as means for winning an argument, I get it. It’s easy to forget they were actually people, sometimes.”

“It shouldn’t be like that for us, though. He was our friend.” Kevin pauses, watching Connor. “I know it isn’t like that for you.”

Connor shakes his head. “We did what had to be done. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

“Right.”

Connor takes a deep breath and stands. “Anyways, you can stay here with me if you really want someone to room with. To be honest I was looking forward to having my own space after sharing a room with twenty people for God knows how long, but it’s not so important that I’ll kick you out.”

Kevin offers a meek smile. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Let’s radio the others and tell them they’re good to come.”


	2. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Listen, if you guys want to stay up all night arguing, be my guest. I’m going to sleep.” With that, Connor rises from his place on the floor and walks back into the dark hall to his room.
> 
> Those left at the fire look at each other, suddenly feeling meek, then begin to pick up their things and return to their own beds. 
> 
> Kevin is the last to leave. He places a metal cover over the fire to smother it, then rises. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Connor.”

“There is plenty of food here,” Naba says. Her hands are resting in firm fists on her hips, widening her tiny frame. “We do not have to worry about that, at least for a few weeks.”

“We don’t have anything _nutritious_ ,” Kevin retorts. “Ramen and chips and whatever might be filling, but that’s no good to us if it can’t keep us healthy.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Kev,” says Arnold. “I mean, I know what you mean, but that’s no reason to pick up and leave.”

“Nothing is stopping us from hunting,” Mafala adds. “I have seen plenty of deer, and there must be edible plants around with the woods nearby.”

Connor rubs at the bridge of his nose. They’d been at this for two hours already. After building a careful and modest campfire in a lounging room to keep out the chill, they promptly sat down and began to argue. Kevin insists this place isn’t secure, and Davis and Michaels agree with him. Church, Naba, and Mafala are willing to put in the work to make it secure, while Arnold wants everyone to get along so he doesn’t have to go to bed stressed. It’s been a long time since any of them got a good night’s sleep.

“Listen.” Connor speaks loud enough to break through the squabble and get eyes on him. “Let’s talk about this in the morning. All of us are exhausted, and being tired isn’t a good starting ground for discussion. Hordes move a few days apart, so we have until tomorrow night at the very least before we have to worry about making things air-tight.”

“We can’t just ignore what needs to be done,” Davis says.

Connor sighs and brushes his hair out of his face. He misses getting regular haircuts. “I’m not ignoring it. Listen, if you guys want to stay up all night arguing, be my guest. I’m going to sleep.” With that, Connor rises from his place on the floor and walks back into the dark hall to his room.

Those left at the fire look at each other, suddenly feeling meek, then begin to pick up their things and return to their own beds. 

Kevin is the last to leave. He places a metal cover over the fire to smother it, then rises. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Connor.”

 

xxx

 

Connor is already in bed when Kevin gets to their room. He’s curled up on his side facing the wall. A few red curls are barely visible above the edge of the blanket and Kevin, not for the first time, has to resist the urge to touch them. _The one nice thing to come out of this whole mess is Connor’s hair getting long._

Kevin takes off his jacket and his belt and lays them on one of the desks. He looks from Connor to the empty bed by the window to his bag, considering, before finally changing into a sweater and softer pants. _Might as well be comfortable if I’m sleeping inside._

“Connor?” Kevin whispers. “Hey, Connor, are you awake?”

“No,” says a muffled voice under the blankets.

“Move over.”

“Why?”

“I want to sleep with you.”

Connor sits up, hair a mess. “What?”

“I don’t want to sleep next to the window.”

“Put the mattress on the floor then.”

Kevin frowns. “Wouldn’t it be warmer with two of us?”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“Absolutely not,” Connor says. He pulls the blankets over his head and rolls over. “Goodnight, Kevin.”

Kevin huffs and goes to the other bed. There’s a single blanket on the mattress, and he can feel the cold seeping in between the boards on the windows. He lays down for a moment, shifting under the comforter and rolling between his left side to his back to his right, fussing with his sleeves bunching…

“Oh my God,” Connor snaps. “If I let you come over here will you be quiet?”

“Yes,” Kevin says.

“Fuck,” Connor sighs. “Get over here then. I’m tired.”

“It didn’t take you too long away from the church to pick up that bad language of yours,” Kevin jokes as he crawls under the covers. 

“You were the first one to start cursing,” Connor replies. “Go to sleep.” He rolls over to face the wall with a huff, and it doesn’t take long for his breathing to steady. Kevin settles in, smiles softly once at the ceiling, and drifts off.

xxx

 

When Connor wakes up in the morning he is so hot it’s stifling, he can feel the beginning of sweat beginning on his face, and there’s a very heavy presence beside him pressing against his back, arm slung over his waist.

“Okay, no,” Connor says. He pushes Kevin away with one hand, startling him awake. “Sharing the bed was an irritation, spooning is out of the question.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Kevin says, rubbing one of his eyes. “I guess I got cold over the night.”

“How did you get cold? It couldn’t have been less than sixty degrees last night.”

“It was warm where I grew up.”

“Uh-huh.” Connor pushes the blanket off him and stumbles to his feet. He crouches next to his largest rucksack to find clothes for the day. Kevin, meanwhile, wraps the comforter around his shoulders and watches.

“I’m hoping you have a plan for the day.”

“Of course,” Connor says, a slight smile on his lips and voice light. “They didn’t make me mission leader just because. We’re going to get some wood, some for the fire and some for fixing up this place. Davis and Zelder are going out to the woods to hunt and gather. I guess Davis was a boy scout, so he’s confident he’ll be able to find something.”

“Please tell me they’re not using the rifle,” Kevin says. He gets up and goes to his own bag to dress. 

Connor zips up his sweater and picks up his scavenging bag, a ragged and stubborn little thing made out of a discarded coffee bean sack they’d found in a city a while back. “They’re bringing it with them, just in case, but last night Mafala and I both made sure they understand that it’s for emergencies only. We can’t risk the noise or the waste any bullets.”

“Right. Did they teach Davis how to use a bow and arrow in boy scouts?”

“Probably,” Connor scoffs. “I’d like for you and Arnold to scour this campus for anything useful. Tools, more food, nails or screws, anything like that. That alright?”

“Certainly.”

Connor goes to the door and casts one look back at Kevin before leaving. “Be back before sunset unless it’d be dangerous.”

Kevin tightens his belt. “It’ll be dangerous no matter what.”

 

xxx

 

“It’s weird to think that people were here just a few months ago,” Arnold says. “Like, a bunch of people our age walking to class or doing homework. It’s surreal.”

“Hopefully that’ll happen again,” Kevin says. He doesn’t believe it will, but optimism is a better balm for distress than cynicism.

They’ve been wandering the campus halls for three hours. They’d headed out immediately after breakfast (eggs and tea) and had scoured each classroom or lecture hall they’d come across. _At this rate, we’ll be scavenging this place the next couple of days. Not a bad job._

The tiles are dusty, chairs are upturned and a few computers and bags are strewn across rooms like they’d been thrown. Most of what they had found so far had been little things, like sweaters and hats, but they had found one of the on-campus shops to still be partially full. They grabbed all the scissors and bottled water and marked it on their map of the grounds so they could find it later without too much wandering.

“Could we sit for a minute?” Arnold asks. “I just need to rearrange this back so the scissors aren’t jabbing me.”

“Of course.”

They choose to settle near a wall where a fireplace used to burn. Sunlight streams in through a wall of windows and Kevin imagines how this place must have felt when it was bustling. Arnold takes all the items out of his pack and puts them back with more method than he did previously. Kevin watches, offers advice, and studies Arnold’s face. He’s lost a lot of weight, Kevin thinks, looking at his companion’s emerging cheekbones and jaw, how his clothes hang off of him, and the scar across his forehead where he’d been scraped during a fight with a militant group. 

_He would have been killed right there if he’d been a little closer to the guy._ Kevin shakes the thought away and leans back against the wall. “How’s Naba doing?”

Arnold smiles. He always does when Naba comes up. “She’s tough. Like, Zoe Washburne tough.”

“No kidding,” Kevin chuckles. “She’s the only one of us who could have made it on her own. We’re lucky to have her.”

“Yeah,” Arnold says softly. He closes his bag, they rise and continue their walk.

They duck into an ajar broom closet. Kevin begins sifting through bottles of cleaning fluid while Arnold looks through the equipment.

“So, uh…” Arnold begins. “You stayed with Connor last night.”

“Yep.”

“How was that?”

“It was fine until he pushed me out of bed.”

Arnold straightens and whirls around, eyebrows raised. “You--”

“No, no, no--” Kevin groans. “I asked to sleep in his bed so I could stay warm. He got overheated and annoyed when he woke up, I guess.”

“Oh, okay.” Arnold gives Kevin a furtive glance. “Did you like sleeping next to him?”

“This isn’t a conversation I want to have in a broom closet,” Kevin says. “We talked about this last week. I like him, I think he’s brilliant and good-looking, but he doesn’t reciprocate. It’s as easy as that.”

“It’s not easy if it’s hurting you,” Arnold replies. “You really should talk to him about it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he’s attracted to me, Arnold.”

Arnold slips a screwdriver out of a tool belt and puts it in his bag. “I didn’t say that.”

“Ugh, look, just--” Kevin slings his bag back over his shoulders and goes to leave the storeroom. “Leave it alone. Let’s go drop the stuff we have off and come back, my bag’s getting full.”

“Alright.”

They climb a flight of stairs to get back to street level and find their new base camp to be just across the street. As Kevin offers Arnold a hand to help him over a brick barrier, a deafening popping sound echoes from somewhere beyond the base. Arnold and Kevin give each other one look before they both sprint to the entrance. Connor and Naba are both there, alarmed and panting, looking around for a source of the sound. Mafala peers out the door, covered in sawdust.

“A shot?” Kevin says, following Connor and Naba’s eyes.

“Most definitely,” Connor says. 

“Thought I could be hopeful for once.”

Connor picks an axe up off the ground and gives it to Naba, then unsheathes his hunting knife. “Let’s go.”

“We’re coming with you,” Kevin says, drawing a startled stare from Arnold.

Connor hesitates, watches Kevin with prying, anxious eyes. “Fine.”

It’s barely a quarter of a mile to the woods. There’s a pond near the entrance of the wilderness area, which was owned by the college by the look of the signs. Naba takes point; she moves the fastest and makes the least amount of noise. She moves to the head of a trail, looks both ways, then gestures to the others to follow.

They come to a small clearing where tiny dirt trails spindle off in several directions. Connor turns to the others and opens his mouth to speak, then they hear someone yell. It comes from the east of them, strangled and desperate. Connor and Naba are running towards it after a slim moment; Kevin and Arnold try to stay close behind, but Arnold is limping behind. _Fuck, I forgot about his ankle. He can’t sprain it again--_ Kevin turns to help him, but Arnold waves him onward. 

Kevin has just drawn a bayonet he grabbed from a museum a while back when Connor and Naba halt. They’re at the top of a small slope, where at the bottom Zelder and Davis are pinned against a ridge of stone by a group of zombies. Davis is on the ground, clutching his knee, which Zelder and the carcass of a large deer shielding him. Two zombies are laying in different places nearby, heads split, but four still stand. Connor moves forward before Kevin can stop him and buries his knife firmly into the face of the closest zombie to Zelder. Naba has her axe through the next of a second one; Kevin moves forward to grab Davis to help him up. Zelder has his hands under Davis’ shoulders to lift him, and just as he pushes--

There’s a wet crunch, a yell, and a gurgle. While Kevin was reaching for Davis and Connor and Naba were freeing their weapons from corpses, the tallest of the lurkers had grabbed the hood of Zelder’s jacket and pulled him backward. He bites deep into Zelder’s neck, opening an artery and spraying Connor with blood. Kevin hears the cracking of bone as Zelder’s collarbone snaps. Naba takes a desperate swing at the lurker’s head, lopping off the head from the hinge of the jaw upwards. It falls lifeless to the grass below. Connor, having wiped the blood out of his eyes, scrambles to face the last zombie, but Arnold puts an arrow through its eye before he can lift his knife. 

Arnold lowers the bow, frowning and eyebrows knitted. He drops it back to the ground with Davis and Zelder’s things and goes to join the group. Naba is applying a makeshift splint to Davis’ leg. He’s crying without making any sound, all hot tears, shallow breaths, and runny nose. Naba has turned him to face away from Zelder, speaking to him softly while tracing gentle figures around the broken kneecap. 

Zelder is propped against the stone wall, grasping at his throat and drawing labored gasps of air. Connor has a hand on his face, talking to him, telling him not to look at anyone except him, while Arnold presses a pad of gauze to Zelder’s neck. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s my fault, I--” Zelder wheezes.

“Shh, it’s not your fault,” Connor hushes. “Tell me what happened.”

“I--I--I saw a deer, this huge buck, right? And Davis went to draw the bow and arrow, but he’d already missed a couple times earlier and was frustrated, so I went to shoot it with the rifle--I just wanted to eat, I wanted us to eat--”

Connor brushes Zelder’s dark hair away from his face and gives him a moment to gather himself. There’s blood dribbling down Zelder’s chin and winding down the intact part of his neck. It’s all Kevin can bring himself to do to crouch down and watch.

“So I fired, and I hit it, but when we went--went to go pick it up, there were--there were these guys here, right? Must have been campers before everything went to hell. I don’t know. We thought we could outrun them, but we didn’t leave the deer, we--we thought--we weren’t looking, and we fell over this ridge here, right? And I was okay, but Davis--he landed wrong, or something, and broke something, like his knee cap, and he couldn’t run--I got rid of two before we got cornered, and our stuff was out of reach because--fuck, I just left our stuff there, I thought we were just going to get the deer and leave--”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Connor murmurs. “Stay calm for me, alright? You’re safe now, we’ve got you. We’re gonna get Davis splinted and get you patched up. We’ll bring the deer. You’ll both get as much venison tonight as you want. Okay?”

Zelder squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s okay, Connor, I know I’m a dead man.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I was bitten, Connor,” Zelder says, voice harsh. “Even if I wasn’t going to bleed out, I’m still infected.” A sob hits him and he covers his mouth. “I don’t want to turn. Please, I don’t--”

“Okay, okay, take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?”

Zelder takes a shuddering breath, then another. He does that a few times while clutching Connor’s hand. Kevin watches Connor’s jaw clench and shoulders shake. “Good. Hey, here’s what we’re gonna do--we’re going to get Davis and the deer back to camp, and--and I’ll take care of you. And then I’ll bury you and say whatever prayer or hymn you want if you want that.”

Zelder nods. “I don’t--I don’t want them to see me like this. I don’t want to turn walking back. Just--tell them I love them. And that I’m sorry.”

Connor is quiet for a heavy moment. “Okay. I understand.”

Naba has one of Davis’ arms around her shoulders and gives Zelder one sad look before beginning the trek back to base. Kevin turns to Arnold and, without speaking, pick up the dead buck and follow Naba. 

Connor waits until he can’t hear their footsteps anymore before drawing his knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's literally been two years since i started this fic. what really takes the cake is how i promised this would be one i finished. then college really, really happened, and i completely forgot about this. then someone commented it on it, and i thought, "holy hell, i want to be an entity on ao3. what kind of person would i be to leave this fic hanging?"
> 
> so here we are. i have the rest of the story planned. i can promise with 95% certainty that i won't disappear for another two years.


	3. Straining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think you’d be surprised,” Arnold says. “Like you said, it’s the end of the world. What do you really have to lose?”

Connor comes back to the basecamp an hour later. Zelder's blood is still splattered over his face and neck. Davis is lying what used to be a janitor's closet on two stacked mattresses, buried under three blankets with a wet rag across his forehead. Gotswana takes Connor there, and they look on at Davis in silence.

"How's his knee?" Connor asks. His voice sounds foreign to him.

"It is an open fracture,” Gotswana replies. Connor clenches his teeth. “Broke through the skin in two places. There was no way for you or Naba or anyone to know; it did not show through his trousers.”

Connor sighs and scratches the bridge of his nose. “Damn.”

“The good news is that Nabulungi is an excellent learner,” Gotswana says with a fond smile. “The splint she made is exactly how I taught her.”

Connor finds himself smiling despite himself. “She really is a gem.”

“However, splints can only do so much,” Gotswana continues.

“What do you mean?” Connor asks. _I really hope this isn’t going where I think it is._

Gotswana looks at Connor with tired, lost eyes. “He’s running a fever.”

The sentence hangs between them, soaked with implications. Connor lowers himself into a nearby chair. He doesn’t trust his legs.

“I can give him some antibiotics,” Gotswana says. “As frustrating as it is, there’s nothing we can do but wait.”

Connor watches Davis breathe. There’s a sheen of sweat on his skin. “All we can do is wait.”

Gotswana turns away and occupies himself with reading the labels on glass cleaners and soaps. “It will take months for his knee to heal.”

“Yeah.”

“Depending on the severity of this infection, he could develop gangrene. It may come to amputation.”

Connor looks at Gotswana from over his shoulder. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

“You are a smart young man, Elder McKinley,” Gotswana replies. “We learned this lesson the hard way with--”

“Just give him a chance!” Connor shoots up out of his chair, one hand clenching the back of it and the other curled into a fist. “We’ll make it work, we can’t just--”

“I am sorry,” Gotswana says. He raises a hand to calm Connor down. “I should not have implied that. I apologize.”

Connor sinks back into his chair and lets his eyes unfocus. _Best case scenario is Davis makes a full recovery. How long will that take? Six months? We’re a few months away from winter. We can’t move him like this, we have no vehicle, we’re relying on fish antibiotics… If he dies in his sleep or awake or whatever from infection or gangrene, he’ll come back as a lurker. If we amputate his leg, there’s a large possibility that he’ll get another infection. If it’s sepsis or something like that, he’s a finished. I can’t--_

“This can’t be my decision,” Connor says. He hates himself for his voice cracking. “You should be talking to Mafala about this. He’s the leader.”

“Funny thing, he said the same about you.”

Connor stares at Gotswana and finds it more and more difficult to breathe. His breath finally catches in his throat, and he buries his head in his hands, squeezing his eyelids against tears. Gotswana steps towards him and puts a hand on his shoulder. He turns away to take something off the shelf and taps it against Connor’s arm. Connor wipes his eyes and takes it. A box of baby wipes, unopened.

“You should wipe your face before you talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Connor says. “You, uh… you can go.”

Gotswana nods and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. Connor takes a moment before opening the box and pulling out a wipe and washing his face. When he takes the cloth away from his face, brown and red are smeared over most of it. He tosses it into a bin and pulls his chair up closer to Davis.

“Davis?” He puts a hand on Davis’ arm. “Hey, are you there? Could you wake up for me?”

Davis shifts, his face twitches, and then his eyes open. The corners of his mouth perk up. “Hey, Connor.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

Connor laughs, just a little, then clears his throat. As he begins to speak, his other hand reaches down to wrap around the hilt of his knife, now sheathed in his boot. “I’m not going to lie to you, you’ve got a lot of uphill climbing to do before you get better. It’s going to be hard.”

“I know you have to kill me, Con,” Davis says. “I’m not scared or upset. I came to terms with it on my way back here after my fever set in.”

Connor shuts his eyes. “I--”

Davis grasps Connor’s wrist in one hand. “Hey, look at me.”

Connor does. Davis gives him a grin that is as genuine as it is tired. “It’s okay. I’ll see my family and my friends. Hell, maybe I’ll even get that planet they told us so much about.”

Connor chuckles, a light, breathy sound. “Alright. Alright.”

“I’m glad to have known you,” Davis says. “Everyone. I wouldn’t have changed the mission for anything--even when it completely fell apart.”

“We’ll miss you,” Connor replies. His eyes sting. The room feels increasingly small, and all Connor wants to do is run.

“Let’s do this before one of us freaks out.”

 

xxx

 

Kevin watches as Kimbay and Michaels turn the spit in silence. Gotswana just left the room after breaking the news about Davis. He and Connor will bury him, don’t talk to Connor about it, just let him eat and go to bed when they get back. 

Arnold, who began to cry when the news came, sits next to Kevin, a hand over his mouth and eyes shut. Nabulungi leans on his shoulder, smoothing his hair and staring into the fire. Mafala is telling stories to Michaels, Church, and Ghali; old legends, fairy tales his mother told him growing up, anything to distract and comfort. Mafala’s face has gotten more and more gaunt over the past few weeks, along with Kimbay’s. _That virus has picked a hell of a time to get worse._

The venison is cooked and served by the time Gotswana and Connor join the group. Connor sits beside Mafala and stares into the fire. He is handed his portion, Gotswana is handed his, and Mafala continues telling stories. Kimbay laughs and listens while she salts the meat to save and store. Michaels is just as invested, asking questions when appropriate and smiling at the jokes. Kevin feels good watching it, but he can’t focus enough to listen. _It’s too much._

Connor stands up and leaves as soon as he finishes his food. Mafala is quiet for a few moments as he watches Connor walk down the hall, gives Kevin a pointed look, and then continues talking. Kevin nods and him and rubs Arnold’s shoulder once before standing up to follow Connor.

When Kevin opens the door, Connor is in the process of getting ready for bed. He’s holding the sweater he was wearing, staring at the bloodstains and rubbing the crusted parts. Kevin closes the door behind him with as much gentleness as he can. He leans back against the door, arms at his sides, and waits for Connor to speak first.

“Now I know how you felt in Uganda,” Connor says with a wry, quiet smile. It’s another few seconds before he speaks again. There’s a tone of bitterness in his voice that makes it sound unfamiliar to Kevin’s ears. “That day, when you wanted to leave, I was so fucking upset with you. I wanted to tell you to wash the blood off your face and change into a clean shirt and leave it at that. We had people to baptize, a community to build. Anything for that.”

“You may not remember, but I was also ambitious. I would go so far as to call myself an ambitious fuck. You wanted to do well, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Stop it,” Connor snaps through his teeth, voice low. “It was traumatic and you know it. Hell, Uganda was full of traumatic experiences for you. But here you are.”

“Here _you_ are,” Kevin adds.

Connor scoffs. He tosses the sweater off to the side and snatches a shirt from his clothing bag. Before he can pull it on, Kevin eyes rake across the definition of Connor’s ribs and hips. _The fluorescent lights make them more pronounced. He can’t be any thinner than the rest of us…_

“Here I am,” Connor agrees, “at the vanguard of a road trip turned survival group that’s falling apart.”

“Davis and Zelder broke a direct instruction not to use the rifle,” Kevin says softly. “They fucked up and had to deal with the consequences.”

“Don’t blame them.”

“I’m not,” Kevin says. “I’m trying to get you to stop blaming yourself.”

“I knew I should have gone with them.”

Kevin frowns. “So you could be dead too?”

Connor narrows his eyes at him. “So that I could have kept them safe.”

“You’re not invincible, Connor,” Kevin counters. “As much as we’d all like to think you are.”

There is a heavy moment of silence. Connor sits on his bed and drags the blanket over his legs, all the while not looking at Kevin. “You and Arnold are going to be scavenging again tomorrow. Just pick up where you left off; you guys found a lot of useful stuff. I’ll be here with everyone else fixing this place up.”

Kevin opens his mouth to protest, then stops himself. “Alright.”

Connor shuts off the desk lamp behind him and buries himself beneath the blankets. “Are you going to bed or not?”

Turning away, Kevin goes to sift through his bag until Connor is asleep. “In a little while.”

 

xxx

 

Connor is gone when Kevin wakes up. He rolls out of bed and dresses before making his way down the hall, where Arnold is waiting by the ashes of last night’s fire.

“Are you ready to head out?” Arnold asks. “It’s almost noon, and the days are getting shorter.”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready.”

They retrace their steps back to the student center. The next few hours pass in long stretches of silence and short pieces of conversation. Arnold talks about Naba and his parents; Kevin listens and talks about his family. 

“I’ve started to wrap my head around the fact that my parents are dead,” Arnold says, his voice low.

“You don’t know that,” Kevin says. “They could be in a shelter somewhere, or surviving like we are.”

Arnold manages a sad smile. “I doubt it.”

They’re in an auditorium when Arnold speaks again.

“You really should talk to Connor,” he says. 

“I know what he’d say,” Kevin replies. “‘It’s the end of the world, there’s no time for this kind of thing,’ et cetera. And that’s under the assumption he has any kinds of feelings for me.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Arnold says. “Like you said, it’s the end of the world. What do you really have to lose?”

 

xxx

 

After sorting through scissors, paper for kindling, assorted pieces of abandoned clothing, packaged food, miscellaneous office supplies, and bandages, Kevin and Arnold slug back to the bunker as the sun sets. There’s a dinner of rabbit and veggie chips. Mafala announces that the next day will be one for rest and working on the bunker. Connor watches Mafala with searching eyes as he talks, a look Kevin can’t read as either disagreement or concern. Mafala’s hands shake as he describes the bunker’s weaknesses, what rooms will be used for what, and what the goals for tomorrow are.

“Reinforcing the doors and boarding up the windows in this room are first priority,” Mafala says. “Connor and I agreed that we should at least have all the doors reinforced and bolted by the end of the day tomorrow.”

Kevin makes a point of getting to his room before Connor does. He busies himself with sorting through his bag and beginning an inventory with a stray pen and notepad. There’s a rush of cold air and a soft clicking sound, and Connor is in the room. Kevin can feels his heartbeat pounding at the base of his neck while his stomach clenches. _Arnold is right._

“Connor?”

“Yes?” Connor’s voice sounds rough and tired.

“Do you--do you think we could ever be more than friends?”

A pregnant pause. Kevin sets his pen down and breathes in until his chest feels like it is going to burst. Behind him, Connor stills for a few moments, then continues changing for bed.

“Is that something you want?”

Kevin clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

When Connor speaks again, his voice is soft, gentle. “Oh, Kevin. The dead are up and walking around. We are already infected as we speak. The best all of us can do right now is stay alive. There’s no room for romance in that.”

“It doesn’t have to be romance,” Kevin says. The words were out of his mouth before he could think about it. “I know there’s no space here for dinners and movies or whatever, but--I want to care about you, in a different way than I care about Arnold or Naba, or the others. I want something, or someone, to take shelter in when it gets to be too much, and I want that to be you.”

Connor squeezes his eyes against the sting of tears. Kevin doesn’t notice he’s begun to cry until a tear skims the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “I can’t be that for you. With all that can happen, and does happen, I couldn’t handle giving someone that much of my heart. I’m sorry.” Kevin breathes a sigh of resignation, but also feels a bittersweet kind of closure. _God, he sounds so sad._

Kevin hears the mattress creak a little behind him. He’s about to speak before Connor composes himself and talks. “If you need to--if you need to sleep somewhere else tonight, I understand.”

“I might,” Kevin says. He picks up his clothing bag and goes to the door. “Just for tonight.”

“Sure.”

Kevin leaves to knock on Church’s door. Connor shuts off the lamp, rolls over to face the wall, and doesn’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i always used to roll my eyes when fanfiction authors would say "I cried writing this" or whatever, but i kind of fucked myself up a little writing this one. i get it now.
> 
> i'll try and get the next (last!) chapter up before i go back to school. your feedback gives me life. love you.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive the strangeness of the prose; writing is my one love, and I'm challenging myself with this story by changing the tense I usually write in and working harder for my self-indulgences.
> 
> other than the above sentence, i'm deleting all of my previous end note. i want you all to know that even if i don't reply to your comments (i never know what to say), they really do keep me going and give me pride in my work. someday i intend on becoming a published and prolific writer, but in case that high-minded plan doesn't work out, making people on the internet happy feels good too.


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